


vulgate vernacular

by miribees



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Gen, Historical References, I'm a classical music student not a theologist pls no yell at me, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Some religious content, Vignette, no beta we die like men, plus i've only seen the show PLS no yell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 03:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miribees/pseuds/miribees
Summary: "Thank God for the printing presss, hey, angel?"Aziraphale nearly dropped the books in his hands at the sound as he trotted down the steps of a Wittenberg church onto the cobbled street, before turning to the demon with a perfectly pleasant expression."I do suppose that was one of ours, yes. They were already using wood blocks to such great effect in Asia, it seemed only natural to automate the process."--Hopefully a part of a series for these two intertwining themselves in the history of classical music. Aziriphale with his musical sensibilities stole my heart immediately, what can I say. These will span time periods, styles, and more based on whatever musical whim I feel like projecting onto these characters next.





	vulgate vernacular

**Author's Note:**

> (for what i doubt in my writing skills, i’m very confident in making playlists and i would love it if y’all gave this funky one a listen <3 http://8tracks.com/musicalmiri/see-you-space-cowboy)

Aziraphale had perhaps assisted in the mass translation and adaptation of religious texts and church music during the whole "Reformation" business. It had been a little contentious, given the strife the split was sowing between factions that should, by all rights, be brothers in Creation, but Aziraphale saw no reason to keep Her messages locked behind arbitrary human authority when it had so much power to unify and teach the less fortunate and all. That was an admirable tenet by the reformers; people had to be able to _understand_ for themselves what She wanted; and with the words finally in front of them in their own language for them to judge with their own eyes, they could. Funny that, free will. Politics aside, there were undeniably many new souls now understanding and internalizing Her word on a truly human level. It couldn't be _wrong_ , such earnest memorization of hymns and lessons, such enthusiastic expression through music. Now if they could all just stop quarreling, that would be truly miraculous.

Crowley was there for similar reasons- goading human factions into splintering and crusading against each other for their obvious moral superiority was so easy he barely had to show up. Just a small push to get the ball rolling and humans could carry that momentum into a century of strife. And the vehicle that delivered the sparks of reformation into the minds of peasants was the dangerous, insolent, indestructible written word. So Crowley watched as Martin Luther delivered his tenets not to a church's door, but to a printer's house, and smiled.

"Thank God for the printing pre _sss_ , hey, angel?" 

Aziraphale nearly dropped the books in his hands at the sound as he trotted down the steps of a Wittenberg church onto the cobbled street, before turning to the demon with a perfectly pleasant expression.

"I do suppose that was one of ours, yes. They were already using wood blocks to such great effect in Asia, it seemed only natural to automate the process."

"Haven't regretted that one yet?" Crowley cocked an eyebrow at the angel, receiving no change in his innocent expression, before gesturing vaguely at the city scene. "The atmosphere around here doesn't seem like it'd be the best for your business. Too much _curiosity_ , humans really have no sense of self-preservation when it comes to matters of the divine." Crowley's eyes flicked to the tomes in the angel's hands. Unassumingly bound in multiple shapes and sizes, modest pages, and the holiness rolling off of them could make the demon retch, if he had bothered to install a gag reflex. 

"Another first edition, is it? Why don't you get Martin to bloody autograph the thing?"

The angel chuckled, almost nervously.

"I'm not here on my own business, of course. Technically, I'm not to engage in any human politics while I'm out here. It's purely administrative work. Giving Mr. Luther and his compatriots some clarity when they need it, granting inspiration, whatever word is on the tip of their tongues I'll help them find."

"For Satan's sake, you're practically doing my job for me." Crowley groaned.

Aziraphale leaned in conspiratorially. "Well, just translating the Holy Word into 'coarse vernacular' is scandalous enough for some. Mr. Luther has been making, er... quite the splash with the higher ups. The archangels particularly are in a bit of a mood." Crowley let out a hiss of laughter at the thought of Heaven scrambling to get this ideological dick-measuring debate back under their holy thumb.

"Well, he's a bit of a tosser, but I like his style."

Aziraphale shrugged before speaking again, voice almost unnaturally casual. Crowley let him change the subject.

"Have you heard his compositions? You really ought to sometime, I know you can't exactly enter a church but, you know, if you happen to be passing by, the congregations are _so_ enthusiastic. Some of the best fun I've had down here in a while."

Crowley wrinkled his nose at the thought. "Haven't been a choir boy in ages, angel."

"Well, you should at least give them a quick browse, these new composers are doing incredibly creative things with four-part harmony. So very different from the good ol' Gregorian days. Here, actually-" The angel shuffled a thinner book from the middle of the stack and flipped it open with one hand, "- if you look here you should be able to see the very obvious folk influences set overtop the original German poetry-" Crowley reached out and snatched the book with a deft hand.

"I don't _read_ ", he snarled, dangling the paper several inches from his eyes and squinting. The notations may as well all be the work of snakes sliding through ink for what Crowley knew of written music, it was like a whole other bloody language. He let his forked tongue ghost over the surface of the pages before pulling it back in to his serpentine scent glands and grimacing. Tucking the book under one arm, he gave a curt nod.

"Right then, I'm off."

"Of course, right, goodbye- Sorry, Crowley, do you actually intend to-" the angel stammered, gesturing weakly at the book with his terribly polite confusion.

Crowley kept walking. He gave himself 6 paces to make the angel _really_ start to fret before launching the tome blindly back over his shoulder.

Aziriphale cut off his stammering with even more articulate stuttering, lurching forward to catch it and clutching it to his chest. Re-balancing his collection in his arms, he looked down at the music. All seemed just as it had before. The sheet music hadn't burned in the demon's grip, anyway. No ink running like blood.

He looked back up to Crowley's retreating form, but Crowley was gone.

(And if it happened to be personally signed and addressed for Aziraphale when he opened the cover next, well...)

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know Luther never actually nailed any tenet's on any church doors? Fun fact. He did have his manifesto published at 93 separate locations across Western Europe, followed relatively shortly thereafter by a whole fucking bible. 
> 
> This is my first Good Omens fic and I'm a little nervous, I hope it wasn't boring. I'm really passionate about classical music so I hope to continue this project with something a liiiiitle bit more exciting (for the general public) than Lutheran Hymns, lmao. I'd love feedback!!


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